‘If you wish to continue trading with the Popov entity, I recommend you stop considering this as a suggestion. You either move forward with me, or I’ll take my business elsewhere.’
I hear Asher swallow before he utters, “We’ve been trading with your family for years, Nikolai. We have no intention of changing that.”
“Then do as I suggested. Have my father’s agreement with Yury transferred to me. I’ll continue with the original shipment schedule as discussed last month, but I’ll throw in an additional 5% in good faith.”
“Five percent?” Asher double-checks, his tone high.
I could offer a more substantial incentive, but five percent is the equivalent of over fifteen million dollars annually, and Asher would be a fool not to seriously consider my negotiation. Asher is a smart businessman, so he’s well aware the initial risk during transition will be awarded tenfold in the near future.
“Shipments will remain on schedule?” Asher asks, his tone conveying his opinion is swaying in my favor.
“Yes. If not an additional two or three thrown in for good measure.”
Asher inhales sharply, dollar signs flashing in his eyes. My capital will take a hit adding more shipments to our already crammed agenda, but if it’s the only way I can convince Asher’s father to retain me as a client, I’ll absorb the loss. If Vladimir loses access to the weapons, drugs and money laundering services Yury’s crew has supplied to the Popov entity the past thirty years, he will be financially crippled. Without adequate incentives, he will soon have nothing to negotiate the loyalty he’s purchased the past seventy-two years because everyone knows loyalty isn’t earned in this industry—it is bought.
“What if I send over payment for the first shipment with Dominque? I heard she has a sweet spot for balding men with limp cocks.”
Asher laughs. “Fucking bastard,” he replies in Russian, his taunt more in fun than scorn, hoping to conceal his eagerness at my suggestion.
You’d have to be a blind man not to notice Asher’s fascination with one of Vladimir’s favorite whores. He practically drools over Dominique whenever he visits the Popov compound on assignment from Russia. He’s never acted on his desires for fear of retribution, but with me announcing Vladimir’s “retirement,” I’m sure his interests are piqued. The Yurys are just as powerful as the Popovs, but their strong point is distribution. They don’t have the muscle required to turn their entity into an impenetrable force like my crew has become.
I hear Asher scrape his hand along the stubble on his jaw before he mutters, “Father will take a bit of convincing, but I think you are right, it’s time for a change in rankings. Send me the documents. I’ll handle the rest.”
His reply makes me suspicious I’m not the only one in the process of dethroning a king, but I set aside my interrogation for a more appropriate time.
“I’ll have the information forwarded by 9 AM Monday.”
I’m in the process of pulling my phone away from my ear when I hear Asher call my name. “Yeah,” I reply, pressing my cell back to my ear.
‘Send Dominique. If World War III is starting, I don’t want her getting caught in the crossfire. I can keep her safe here.’
My chest puffs, swelling with smugness. “She’s already on her way. Her flight is scheduled to land at Koltsovo airport within the next hour or two. She’s traveling with Malvina.”
I can’t see Asher, but I know he is smiling. “So, the rumors are true? You sent Malvina packing?”
“It is best for all involved,” I reply, giving the same excuse I’ve given numerous times today.
Asher inhales a sharp breath. “And what’s Vladimir’s opinion on the subject?”
“Does it matter? He wasn’t the one marrying her.”
Asher swallows, mindful of my short temper. I run my hand over my scalp, wary I’m taking my frustration out on the wrong person. The trades I’ve negotiated a majority of my day have all followed a similar path—they’re worried my decision not to marry Malvina will impact our business. They do not need to worry. The Popov entity was thriving decades before Malvina was in the picture, and it will continue to thrive for decades after.
“Vladimir isn’t happy, but that shouldn’t surprise anyone. He’s never happy,” I mutter a short time later, issuing Asher the first honest answer I’ve given all day. Asher is a business associate, but I also consider him a friend.
“True,” Asher agrees without pause. “That’s why I want Dominique off his radar. I’ve seen some fucked-up shit the past twenty-seven years, but your father’s antics are by far the worst.” He tries to hide the heavy disdain in his tone. He fails.
“Look after Dominique, Asher. She’s a gem. She just got snagged by the wrong man.” Much like Justine did years ago.
Asher grunts, but doesn’t reply to my unaccustomed compliment. Happy to let him construe my statement in any way he sees fit, I disconnect our call and return my cell to the pocket of my jeans. Before Justine, my praise never veered far from throwing hundred dollar bills onto the bed my female companions were lying on after we’d finished fucking. They weren’t hookers, but considering I used their bodies as if they were, I paid them like prostitutes. Now. . . I’m beginning to wonder if my cock has been replaced with a vagina.
Justine is making me weak, but in a way I can’t help but encourage. I’m fucking lost to that woman, my desire to have her screaming my name more persuasive than my need to slit Vladimir’s throat. I never thought I’d be crippled by a pussy, but in all fairness, I never thought I’d meet a woman like Justine: smart, beautiful, and strong enough to stand by my side while I take back what’s rightfully mine.
Justine thinks she wants an innocent, unadventurous life, but I see the fire in her eyes begging to be released. She was born to lead; she just needs to recoup the confidence stolen from her, then she will be unstoppable, a queen worthy of the most powerful throne.
“Pull over here,” I direct one of the new recruits I’ve been amassing in droves in the past year.
Although Justine’s arrival in my life thrust my quest for vengeance into the forefront of my mind, I’ve been planning this for years. Her presence just means it will happen earlier than initially planned.
I throw a bundle of rolled-up bills over the tinted partition of my car. “There is a parking garage three blocks over. Stay there until I call you.”
Not waiting for him to reply, I clamber onto the sidewalk two blocks down from Justine’s apartment, knowing he will follow my instruction to the T or lose his life.
The bone-dry heat is disgusting, but my desire to keep Justine’s location unknown means I’ll share the sidewalk with another three dozen idiots stupid enough to walk in 110-degree heat. With traffic heavier than usual, it took longer to travel from my compound to Justine’s apartment building. I was hoping to arrive before her as I had last night, but with Roman advising she left work an hour earlier than planned, I’ll most likely arrive after her.
“Where is she?” I ask into my cell, not bothering to issue Roman a greeting.
“She just entered the elevator of her building.”
I nod, even though Roman can’t see me. “Was she followed?”
“No, but you should have a word with her about increasing her awareness. I walked behind her the entire way, and she never noticed me.” I’m not surprised by the worry in Roman’s voice; the paternal instincts he usually bestows on me switched to Justine the instant I placed her on his watch.
“I’ll talk to her. Are you heading out?”
“Yeah, I’ll be back tomorrow morning. 3 AM? Or are you going to drop the ball again like you did this morning?”
I smile a smug grin. “Would you leave if you had a woman like Justine lying in your arms?” My cock hardens just at the thought of her lying in my arms.
“Fuck no.”
My smile turns genuine from Roman’s unusual use of an expletive. “I’ll be ready for you to take over at three. I’ve got more foundations to lay.”
“Yury agreed?” Roman asks, hearing the underlying message in my reply. “I didn’t think he’d ever part ways with Vladimir.”
“He didn’t have a choice. Asher took the decision out of his hands.”
I push through the revolving glass door of Justine’s apartment building before heading for the elevator bank. Knowing the car is on level ten, I throw open the emergency fire stairs and enter the dimly lit space.
“The trade didn’t come cheap. An extra 5% and an additional two shipments.”
I swear I can hear Roman’s brain ticking over as he calculates the loss in production. “With you securing Yadkor yesterday, you’ll cover the loss within a month.”
“I know; now I just need to convince Alexei. If he is on board, I’ll have over 60% of Vladimir’s assets.”
My words come out hoarse, not just stifled by my fast gallop up the stairwell, but the adrenaline raging through my veins. My plan to take down Vladimir is coming together better than I could have ever hoped. What I thought would take months has occurred in days. I want to say the swiftness of proceedings is due to shrewd business dealings, but that isn’t the case. It is my determination to keep Justine off Vladimir’s radar—my desire to keep her safe.
“You need to tread carefully with Alexei, Nikolai. He’s been your father’s minion for longer than you’ve been born,” Roman warns, his tone low.
“Then he knows better than anyone not to underestimate me. He will do well not to cross me.” The tick of my jaw matches the beat of my heart, both as dangerous as the other. “Alexei either agrees with my terms, or he will follow Vladimir to hell. The loss in production won’t affect us. Yury’s crew will pick up the slack.”
Roman sighs heavily, but not a word seeps from his lips. He has warned me numerous times the past year, but not once have I listened to them. It isn’t because I’m stubborn; it is because I am a Popov through and through.
“Let’s reconvene tomorrow. . . after you’ve been wiped of excessive energy,” Roman suggests, his tone spirited during the last half of his sentence.
I roll my eyes, feeling younger than my nearly twenty-nine years. “I’m not being led by my cock, Roman.”
“I never said you were,” he intervenes. “But your motives are fueled by the one muscle in your body that pumps just as much blood as your cock.”
Roman laughs at my furious growl. The fucking hide of him. If the thrill of the hunt wasn’t coursing through my veins, I’d teach him a lesson on disrespect. Lucky for him, I have Justine on my radar, pushing aside any negative thoughts. She is moseying down the hallway, the natural swing of her hips seducing me with every step she takes. Fuck, she is beautiful, an intoxicating mix of innocence and sexiness.
Justine has no idea of her appeal, often missing the numerous glances she gets when she enters the room. I heard for months about the tempting redhead every criminal in the county wanted to work on their case before testing her as thoroughly between the sheets. I thought her allure was purely due to her being fresh meat. I had no clue every murmured comment was factual. Justine is a knockout—a ten out of fucking ten. The prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. And if that doesn’t already have blood pumping to my cock, there’s also the fact she’s mine.
“Roman,” I murmur into my cell, my eyes not leaving Justine.
“Yes,” he replies, his voice still brittle with laughter.
Wanting to wipe the smile right off his face, I say, “Tell Lorde I found the package she left in my glove compartment. Although tempting, pink lace panties aren’t really my thing.”
Air whizzes out of Roman’s nostrils. “I swear to God, Nikolai. If I find out you touched my daughter, I’ll—”
Happy Roman is ensnared by the trap I laid for him, I disconnect our call. Roman’s twenty-two-year-old daughter is gorgeous, but I see Roman as a father, so I’ve never taken advantage of the numerous offers Lorde has made me the past two years. Roman is a good man who has miraculously kept his family out of our lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean I won’t use his daughter’s interest in me to get a rise out of him. Serves him right for pissing me off.
The closer I get to Justine, the lighter my shoulders become. I’ve been tackling one shit storm after another today, but none of that matters when Justine is on my radar. She is my drug, the sole nutrient feeding my ego. If she weren’t in my thoughts all day, I would have thrown in the towel hours ago and lost my motivation with a handful of Popov’s whores as I’ve done numerous times the past twelve months. But the desire to have her beneath me, riling me up like no woman before her, has kept me driven. I want to dethrone Vladimir, but not nearly as much as I crave Justine. That desire is irrepressible. Whether it is ten days or ten years, I’ll never get my fill.
I sneak up on Justine unaware, my steps inaudible. A good hunter doesn’t need to chase his prey; he just takes what he wants, using his target’s weakness against them.
Justine isn’t my prey, but she is by far the greatest game I’ve ever played. My Ahren—the ultimate prize.
